Only A Fool
by VampedVixen
Summary: Every time she goes to him to kill her pain, she hates herself a little bit more. Buffy & Angelus. Angsty. Very Angsty.


Only a Fool  
  
Written By Vixen  
  
What would Giles think of his precious slayer now, Buffy wonders as she whimpers under Angelus' touch. Would he lie to himself? Make up excuses for why the innocent had fallen, blame it all on the vampire. The first time this had happened, the first time she let it happen, she had found the same excuses to hide behind. He had tricked her, raped her, lied to her, he was the one at fault. He was evil, a monster who thrived on sin and using people for his own aims. She was pure, and chaste, and innocent. The lines are slowly blurring, swallowing every bit of sanity she once had clung to. She's no better than he is, and for the first time since they began their twisted affair she understands this. As he tears at her clothes, she feels the animal instincts take hold and understands that darkness is a part of everything. It's a part of her. Its a part of life.  
  
Since Angel's left her, she doesn't think about the mission anymore. That part of her is over, the self sacrifice and the dying for others. Tonight she's dying for herself. She's dying just to feel, just to know that she's not alone. Though ultimately, she understands that she is. They are all alone. The world is full of people who live hidden lives, tucked away from one another, hiding secrets in the dim shadows of the night. Even her friends hold things back from her, from each other. They try to bury the past, the hurt, but Angelus can see through each one of their disguises. At night, while he takes pleasure from her pain, he tells her what they conceal. He tells her the truth. He's the only one who does.  
  
She screams as he splits her legs apart and slides into her, tearing her apart. He doesn't care. As she scratches at his chest, leaving tiny lines of red, he still doesn't care. Its all part of the game to him, all part of breaking her apart, wearing her down. She's not sure what he really wants in the end, what he'll do to her when he's finished, kill her or turn her like Drusilla. She's not sure it matters. What's certain is that she was broken a long time before they began this sordid parade of angry lust. After the Master made her drown, when he killed her, she never fully recovered. While Angelus is grinding against her, Buffy wonders if Xander ever saved her. Maybe she's dead. Maybe this is hell.   
  
Somehow she had forced herself to pick up the pieces and carry on. Fight the good fight, do what her friends needed her to do, what they couldn't do themselves. She went to school, trained with Giles afterwards, did all that was required of her. They had thought that smashing the Master's bones had healed her in some way, helped her deal with her issues. That wasn't it. All those months after she came back from Los Angeles, she lived and forced herself to carry one for one thing. Angel. He put her back together again, only to ironically knock her down again once he lost his soul. Once she made him lose his soul.   
  
It broke her. Angelus broke her.  
  
At first she didn't want to believe he was truly gone, she had hoped there was some part of Angel still in the monster who abused her nightly. It was useless to try to look for him though, she knew this now. Even deep down, the vampire she had known and loved is gone. He doesn't exist anymore. Angelus is just his pale shadow. He laughs at cruel inappropriate moments, loves to see her fail, gets off on each mistake she makes. He's nothing like Angel.   
  
At first she hated that, she had wanted to drag her love out of this monster, make him care for her again. Now she's relieved they're not the same. If Angel could see her now, Buffy was sure he would be disgusted. She knows she is. She hates herself, and in part this is why she keeps coming to Angelus. He's the only one who won't coddle her, won't tell her she's not to blame for his transformation, won't try to protect her absent feelings. He knows she has none. She's as dead as he is.  
  
When he's had his fill of her for the night, he pushes her off the bed. Clumsily, she hits the floor, all slayer training and strength lost to her. She should be used to being thrown away by now, tossed aside and forgotten, but every night it comes as a surprise that he doesn't try to kill her when he's through. He just stares at her as she picks up her torn clothes, wraps herself up in her leather jacket to hide the new bruises he's given her. He's marked her, and he knows she'll be back. With a smile full of false pity he tells her, "Go home, you're not worth the trouble to kill."  
  
They both know she'll be back, it'll happen all over again. He'll use her until there's nothing left, and then what he decides to do with her will be entirely his choice. Every time she goes to him to kill her pain, she hates herself a little bit more. She's losing herself, her life is not her own anymore. Not that it ever was, not since the Watcher's Council made her a tool of their war, a weapon instead of a woman.   
  
Quietly, she exits the mansion. The sun is coming up, dawn is approaching. Today she'll go to school, work with the others on a way to stop Angelus. She'll lie to them, pretend she knows nothing of his whereabouts, nothing of his plan. Then come night time, she'll be back on his bed again, and he'll be back inside her again. They'll continue that way until one of them kills the other. One small part of her hopes she's the victor in the end, but the rest prays that he kills her soon. At least that way she won't have to live with what she's done, with what she is. 


End file.
